


120 Days

by bshiat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fix It, Fix It 2019, M/M, angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19395703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bshiat/pseuds/bshiat
Summary: Remus doesn't cope very well with losing Sirius to the veil.





	120 Days

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you mods for the lovely fest! Fix It is always so optimistic and the low pressure style is literally what got me to sign up!
> 
> Thank you Gloom, Shaggy, Nacho and Shessocold for the encouragement and beta’ing!! Couldn’t wolfstar without y’all.

‘Tis a human thing, love,

a holy thing, to love

what death has touched.”

**― Judah Halevi**

**120 Days Before**

He’s cast multiple drying spells, but when Remus walks into Grimmauld Place, he’s still feeling completely drenched. He knows that what he’s really feeling is just the sticky residue, but try telling his skin that.

“Fuck, Moony, what’d you _do?”_ Sirius asks, nose scrunched up. Remus hadn’t even heard him walk down the stairs. _Was he waiting for me?_ Remus wonders.

“Nice to see you too,” Remus says lightly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“The seeing part isn’t too bad,” Sirius says, tilting his head rather like Padfoot. “It’s the stench that has me gagging.” He, of course, looks remarkably put-together, despite being a wanted criminal. Today he’s in a maroon robe that Remus hasn’t seen before. It’s simple but impeccably tailored. He doesn’t ask if the robes Sirius has been wearing were left behind from his youth, or if they’d belonged to his father or brother.

Remus gives Sirius a look, but Sirius doesn’t snicker like Remus expects. It’s all right, Remus doesn’t expect Sirius to be always on the same page as him, anymore.

“It’ll wash off,” he sighs. “I hope.” He carefully takes off his grey coat, and places it on the floor, wondering whether it’s a lost cause. He could ask Molly to help, that woman knows how to make clothing last…

_“Incendio!”_

And just like that, Remus’ choice is taken away from him. He’s tempted to snap at Sirius, but decides it’d be a waste. If Remus talked about money, Sirius would just laugh and throw him a hundred galleons. If he talked about Sirius needing to ask permission before destroying his belongings, that’d be likely to end up with the galleons shoved down his throat. So instead he smiles tightly, and shakes his head.

“I need a shower,” Remus says Sirius, pointing out the obvious. “And then--”

“Two. At _least,”_ Sirius instructs.

“Right. Two showers. _Then_ I’d like to have some tea. If you wouldn’t mind terribly…”

Sirius, surprisingly, barks out a laugh, and Remus wants to let out a sigh of relief. He’s never sure when he’s going to offend Sirius (“I’m not a bloody house-elf! I don’t have to do as you say!”) or not (“Of course I’ll decurse the second drawing room, love.”). Being stuck in this house, unable to choose what he wants to do, has Sirius going stir crazy. Remus is grateful that, exhausted as he is, he doesn’t have to deal with a grouchy Sirius on top of it all.

“I’ve had the tea going since you unlocked the door.” Sirius takes a few steps towards Remus, then scrunches up his nose again. “I must really love you,” he says, and leans in to give Remus a quick kiss. He pulls his face away after a bit, but his hands stay on Remus’ shoulders.

They stay like that, for a few seconds, two young-old men tiredly smiling at one another. It’s not that Remus would have ever wished Sirius to suffer - not _really_ \- but there’s something he enjoys about this new Sirius. Despite their years apart, they still fit together, one way or another, and oddly, at times like these, Remus feels closer to him than ever before.

**113 Days Before**

“What?” Sirius asks impatiently, watching Remus sip his tea quietly.

Sirius had been waiting by the door when Remus and Tonks returned to Grimmauld Place, and hasn’t left Remus’ side since. So now here they are, in the kitchen, Sirius tapping his fingers onto the table while Remus drinks tea and reads the Prophet at a glacial pace (at least it feels that way to Sirius, Remus can tell).

Remus looks at him, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Moony,” Sirius says, exasperated. “I know this-- this-- Moony thing that you’re doing.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Remus says, taking his cup in hand, but can’t stop a tiny smile from emerging. There’s something charmingly childish about when Sirius gets like this, and he can’t help but enjoy it just a little.

“Ha! See? There! You’re up to something.”

“We already had a jailbreak this month with the walk in the park, what more do you expect, Padfoot?” Remus asks innocently, pretending to not understand what Sirius is getting at.

Sirius glares at him.

“I promise, I’m not up to anything,” Remus says again, more seriously this time.

“But I can feel you _thinking_ at me, Remus.”

Sirius isn’t wrong, Remus _has_ been thinking a lot today.

“I thought you weren’t good at legilimency.”

There’s a pause where Remus’ heart stutters a bit. It’s always unsettling when Sirius hesitates, or takes a pause. It used to be because rather frightening thoughts would come to Sirius’ mind at times like these; nowadays it’s more because Remus can’t predict Sirius’ moods.

Thankfully, it’s not a mood swing, and Sirius breaks the silence with a soft huff through his nose. “As if I ever needed that with you or Prongs.” He stops tapping his fingers, but starts tapping his left foot instead. Remus wonders if he’s even aware of it. “Now. Out with it, Lupin.”

“I’m not up to anything,” Remus starts, dragging out his words. When Sirius inhales sharply, he quickly adds: “I’ve just been thinking. You don’t have to tell me, of course, but… What did you give Harry?”

“Oh,” Sirius says, disappointed, and leans further back into the leather seat. “I was hoping it was something else. Could’ve asked me that ages ago, Moony, didn’t need to _think_ at me until I told you.”

Of course Remus can’t say it, but he gets the feeling that Sirius was looking for a fight. Not that Remus can blame him; he can’t imagine what it must be like being Sirius these days: the boredom and suffocation.

“Well?”

“The two-way mirror,” Sirius says with a shrug, avoiding his gaze. He looks younger, at times like these, when he shows doubt. Even his clothes suddenly look bigger on him as his shoulders roll inward a bit. It’s odd, seeing Sirius Black, whose wordless presence used to fill a room, shy away from anything.

Remus hums, wondering to himself whether it’s a good idea or not.

“What?” Sirius says, still avoiding his gaze. Again, Remus gets the idea that he’s riling up for an argument.

Remus can’t help but laugh. “He just better not use it the way Prongs did. Or - Merlin - you.”

“Why, Moony,” Sirius says, finally facing Remus again, face split with a big grin. “I don’t know what you mean. It’s but a simple tool of communication for those in need.”

“Right, right…”

**111 Days Before**

Molly’s been in the house for about five hundred hours by Remus’ estimation. By the look on Sirius’ face, Remus gets the feeling that he feels the same way. He’s been pacing the navy blue carpet in the library in his Animagus form for the last five minutes.

“Oh there you are, dear,” Molly says, when she finally finds them. They’d been ignoring her for the most part, thanking Merlin that as much of a prison Number 12, Grimmauld Place is, at least it’s a big one. “Couldn’t find you in your usual hidey-holes.”

“Been doing some research,” Remus says easily, gesturing towards a random library shelf.

“Of course.” She has too much experience with young boys for Remus to know whether she’s bought it or is just good at pretending. “Well, I’ve put away everything - remember to re-charm the food in the pantry every day or it’ll spoil. I’ve a feeling Kreacher won’t pay attention.”

That’s one way of putting it… Remus makes a mental note to check a couple times a day that the charms haven’t mysteriously faded.

“Thank you, Molly. You really don’t have to.” He smiles. “Not that we don’t appreciate the delicious food.”

Even Sirius can’t deny that, and stops pacing and looks up at Molly with a sort of doggy smile.

“Oh, you know me… Never know what to do when the children are at school, do I? One second I’m feeding a small army, the next second pies are spoiling and I’m throwing them away.” She looks between Sirius and Remus for a few moments. “Well, I’ll be off soon. I don’t want to be late - we have a date, tonight.”

Remus wants to know how that works with the recovery, but thinks better of it. “That’s sweet, Molly. Hope you have fun.”

“Got to keep the romance alive, as you well know. Can’t remember our anniversary half the time, but Valentine’s is easy to commit to - even the Prophet always has a full page dedicated to it. Did you read it, today?”

“Yes. Interesting.” Remus doesn’t know how to end this conversation any quicker, so stays quiet.

“Right. Well. Off I go. There’s some toffee pudding in the kitchen.” She looks as if she wants to come further into the library and hug Remus, but then decides not to, and walks off.

After they hear the distant hiss of the fireplace, Sirius switches back to his human form. “She needs to have more kids. Maybe then she’ll stop thinking we’re hers too.”

“Sirius…”

“What? I don’t even have red hair!”

Remus needs to de-escalate this as swiftly as he can. “Maybe we can go out for a curry? We could spell some boils or something onto your face, go to a hole-in-the-wall Muggle place?”

Sirius is interested from the moment the words ‘go out’ was uttered, but then he grows thoughtful, his eyebrows furrowing. After a short while of thinking, he starts grinning, and walking towards Remus predatorily. “When did we ever celebrate any occasion that way, my dear Moony?”

Before Remus has a chance to respond - seriously or jokingly - Sirius’ lips are on his, and he’s being tugged towards the armchair by the desk, and his worn muggle jeans are being unbuttoned.

Not that he’s complaining.

**100 Days Before**

The day Dumbledore agrees to send Sirius on a mission makes Sirius almost worryingly happy.

“Calm down, Padfoot,” Remus says with a chuckle. “I’m quite sure you don’t have to pack three different robes. We’ll be gone barely two days.”

“But it’s _Norway,”_ Sirius says excitedly. “What if it’s cold? But what if it’s warm? You never know with the mountains, you know.” He’s speaking so fast, it reminds Remus of how excited Peter would get sometimes, foregoing breathing for the sake of getting more words out as quickly as possible.

“Right, well, not to say that you need space - obviously not an issue - but wouldn’t you have an easier time finding things if…” He puts his arm and head into Sirius’ satchel, looking around. “If you didn’t have, say, a Ffwooper flapping about?” he asks, coming back out of it with a couple feathers on the arm of his robe.

“She could be useful!” Sirius insists.

Remus is about to tease him further when a silvery phoenix enters their bedroom.

“Don’t leave,” Dumbledore’s voice says calmly through the Ppatronus. “Circumstances have changed, we’ll discuss it further at the next order meeting. Thank you for your help, as always.”

And just like that, the phoenix is gone, leaving Sirius wide-eyed with shock and rage. “It-- What? _Why?”_ Sirius asks to the empty space the patronus has left behind.

“Sirius, I know this is less than ideal, but--”

“Oh what the fuck do you know, Lupin? You can walk in and out of here as you please. What do you know?” Sirius shouts. Remus does his best not to glare in return. It’s not his fault that Sirius is trapped here, but it’s not good for either of them for Remus to say that. “What would you know, what it’s like?” Sirius continues his harangue. “I can’t even see my godson off to school, can’t even send an _owl_ more than once a week lest it look suspicious. I’m trapped here when I haven’t done a goddamn thing wrong!”

Remus’ dad, or Lily, would’ve known what to say, now. Would’ve advised them to talk it out. But Remus can’t find the words. Any thought that comes to him dies on his tongue before he can speak it out loud.

He can’t say he’s trapped too, just in a different way. It’d be ungrateful and demeaning to Sirius. He can’t say things will get better, because he doesn’t know that. He can’t say anything.

“I’ll be upstairs if Harry floos,” Sirius growls, and stomps out of the room, going to tend to Buckbeak.

 _It’ll be all right,_ Remus tries to convince himself. _It’s only temporary._

**46 Days Before**

“No,” Sirius says. “It must be somebody on your end…”

“I’d better go!”

And just like that, Harry’s head disappears from the fire.

“Well,” Remus says slowly after a moment, then pauses, looking at Sirius. “Suppose I could write him a letter.”

“Snivellus, or Harry?” Sirius asks, then stands up.

Remus shrugs. He’d been thinking of Snape, of course - much rather deal with the greasy git in writing than in person - but he should make more of an effort to keep in touch with Harry too, probably. But Occlumency lessons are important, he needs to do something.

He’s expecting Sirius to yell a little, maybe set a few fires for Kreacher to rush to, but instead Sirius laughs.

“What?”

“Prongs,” Sirius says, looking down at Remus with a grin. “I forget sometimes. I mean… I remember him, of course, but…” His smile turns sad and lopsided.

“You remember him towards the end,” Remus helps.

“Yeah.” He pulls Remus up and into sort of half-hug. They’d never particularly lacked physical contact before Azkaban, but Sirius certainly seems to seek it out more these days, as if he needs proof that Remus is still there.

“Bet you I could still run ’round the Quidditch pitch without stopping,” Sirius says, eyes shining as if daring Remus to ask him to prove it.

Remus chuckles, shaking his head. “One of your more pointless endeavours, you have to admit.”

“Tell that to bloody Potter, why don’t you!” Sirius says and yes, Remus does remember the first time James had dared Sirius to do it. They’d subsequently decided it was to be part of their Quidditch practice routine, despite the whole sport taking place on brooms. James wasn’t ‘quite right in the head’, Sirius had kindly said, and ‘the captain powers have gone to his already bloated head’.

But they’d been young, and it’d been easy enough, so why not?

Remus gives Sirius a kiss, remembering the one and only time he’d bothered to watch a Quidditch practice fondly. _Should’ve made more time for it,_ Remus thought. He’d _liked_ Quidditch, why hadn’t he taken a more active part in it? _It always felt like we had little time. We were idiots, all we had was time._

“We’re old men now, eh Padfoot?” he asks, nuzzling his face against Sirius’ chin.

“Old?” Sirius says, with mock outrage. “I’ll show you old.” He pulls at Remus’ robe and leads him towards the stairs, and Remus really does feel like a teenager running around Hogwarts for a moment.

Just as they’re entering their bedroom, Sirius pauses, and turns to Remus thoughtfully. “Hey, Moony?”

“No, today’s not the day we try it, there’s no way my back can take--”

“No, no,” Sirius cuts him off and waves a dismissive hand. “I was going to say… Why do you reckon Harry doesn’t use the mirror?”

They’d been in a good mood, but the sudden shift in Sirius isn’t unfamiliar. His brain works at a few levels. While he’d been thinking about sex with Remus, in the background he’d also been thinking about his godson’s life and safety, and who knows what else. He has a tendency to have multiple conversations and trains of thoughts at once.

“I think he’s saving it for an emergency,” Remus says carefully.

“But he used the floo…” Sirius’ eyebrows are furrowed, and Remus mentally wills his cock to get with the program that no, they’re not having sex any time soon.

“It might feel more intimate, with the mirror. Like he’s bothering his godfather in his room.”

“OK” is all Sirius says, nodding to himself. Remus will never get used to how easy he is to convince these days.

And just like that, the pensive, dark mood is gone, and Sirius kisses Remus again, trying to push away his robes so he can get at more of Remus’ skin.

**11 Days Before**

“That’s a load of bollocks, Remus, and you know it!”

“Look, Padfoot, I know you--”

“You know _nothing,_ Remus,” Sirius hisses, and his glass flies out of his hand and shatters against the wall. He doesn’t even flinch, although Remus does, a little. Destroying things had always been Sirius’ go-to when he was angry, but over the last decade Remus has definitely gotten used to _not_ having things randomly explode around him, and now he gets startled by it every time it happens.

Remus can’t tell if Sirius is becoming more unhinged as the months go on, or if it’s just the proximity of living together that’s making Remus notice how different his old friend is now, after Azkaban.

“We need to trust him, Padfoot,” Remus says softly, despite his heart still beating rapidly. “The more I reach out, the weaker Voldemort’s support will be. If I can get information about one small plan or person, I can make a tiny dent in his plans. It’s a numbers game right now, to keep him from getting the following he used to have. We need to keep his support as low as possible until Harry’s powerful enough to…” He doesn’t finish the last sentence. He has a feeling Sirius isn’t listening, anyway. “Dumbledore has a plan,” he insists, even though Sirius is openly looking away now.

“Bugger his plan,” Sirius huffs. “I want to get out of here. What, if you’re with someone, they won’t believe you? I’m a notorious Death Eater, haven’t you heard? If anything I should be an even better cover for you than Snivellus or anyone else.”

“If I was trying to trick the Order, sure,” Remus says, chuckling without humor. “Death Eaters _know_ that you’re not one of them, you knobhead.”

“I want to _do_ something. I can’t just be stuck here while you go out and _do_ things and… You understand, don’t you, Moony?” Sirius’ eyes are so earnest and so young despite the wrinkled, tired face that they’re set in, that Remus’ heart skips a beat.

“Sirius…” He takes a deep breath. “Look what happened last time we made our own decisions. Can we really afford to go rogue again? We have Harry to think about, it’s not just our own necks.”

“Harry,” Sirius mumbles fondly, and turns his eyes away from Remus again.

They talk for a few more minutes, and Sirius reluctantly agrees to stick to the plan and stay in Grimmauld Place for Harry’s sake. But while Remus is still reading the latest Prophet, Sirius goes to bed with a bottle of whisky, and Remus doesn’t stop him.

**The Day Of**

_And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place._

**11 Days After**

Time really _is_ an illusion, Remus thinks, staring at the ghoulish grandfather clock in Walburga’s powder room. It’s a creepy thing, standing out even in a house like this. _What a family they must’ve been, when they were alive,_ Remus thinks. His eyes sting when he remembers that he doesn’t just mean Sirius’ family any more. It also means Sirius. Because Sirius is gone too.

Remus goes through the motions: sits through Order meetings, pays the owl that brings him the Prophet every day, makes short, polite conversation with fellow Order members, and tries to remember to eat three times a day. He wonders how long the numbness will last, this time.

Harry’s actually written him a letter which he doesn’t know whether to love or hate. He loves that James’ son, his almost-godson, feels like he can talk to Remus. But he hates what he’s written. Harry hadn’t even opened the goddamn envelope Sirius had given him. He hadn’t even _known_ about the mirror. Remus hates that he hadn’t guessed that. Sirius had been suspicious, and Remus hadn’t ever thought to ask… And if he had, if they’d asked Harry, if he’d _known..._

“You know, dear,” Molly says gently, and Remus almost jumps out of his seat. He’d been lost in his own mind, not even realizing that she was right next to him. “I think Tonks is rather lonely this evening. Maybe you should go for tea?”

Remus blinks several times before looking at Nymphadora. She’s talking to Kingsley, and there’s a tint of red on her cheeks. He’s about to tell Molly that it looks like she’s more interested in Kingsley, when Nymphadora steals a very quick glance at Remus, then turns back to Kingsley. In her clumsiness, she hits Kingsley’s stomach, and blushes even more. Remus thinks that must be pretty common for metamorphmagi who, just like teenagers, have a changing body.

“Seems she’s in good company, Molly,” Remus says with a fake, tight smile. Before he leaves the dining room that night, though, he looks at Nymphadora for a few moments. In her ‘natural’ state, if that’s what it really is, she looks quite a lot like a Black, actually. Not the hair, of course, but the cheekbones, eyes, and even the ears, for some reason. Remus didn’t even think he could describe Sirius’ ears from memory, but hers remind him of them somehow. He’s glad there’s some good apples grown on the Black tree, would’ve been a shame otherwise.

He goes to bed with the last bottle of whisky Sirius had been working on. Only a few glasses left, now. Maybe he’ll polish it off tonight. _Why not,_ he thinks bitterly, closing the door behind himself. _Not like it matters._

**46 Days After**

Remus decides to drink enough to stay drunk when morning comes, that night. He reckons it beats having a hangover. Thankfully his trick works, and he bolsters his inebriation with Bailey’s and coffee. Hair of the Dog, and all that. By the time Hermione walks in, he’s in a pleasant state, and he even manages to smile genuinely as he greets her.

“Good morning, Professor,” she responds, then hops onto a seat next to him with a cup of tea and a book almost as thick as Hogwarts: A History.

He reads the title, despite the tilt of the head making him a bit uncomfortable. “Time-turners?” he asks.

Hermione nods, putting a bookmark on the page and turning to him. “I asked Professor McGonagall about them after V… Voldemort returned. But they’re all at the ministry, and I understand that there’s a limit to their powers, and the variables are too many.” She looks at the book solemnly. “We can’t bring Cedric Diggory or anybody else back, not really,” she continues sadly. “The theory dictates that even if I popped up between the cup and Cedric, things would somehow result the same. Because what’s happened, has happened. You can’t use time-turners to change what’s already happened.” Her voice gets quieter as she goes on, until she stops talking.

Remus can tell she’s stressed and possibly holding back tears. She really is such a brilliant, strong witch. “It’s not on you to fix this,” he says, his voice as firm and gentle as he can muster. “You’re young, let us old folk do everything we can, first. We already put enough on you all. You’ve been through so much.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she says, voice shaking just a bit. When she turns to him, though, her face is full of conviction, and there’s no fear. “We’ll defeat him. I know we will.”

**100 Days After**

The thought had kept niggling at him for weeks. Maybe once a day at first, then it had become more and more frequent until he couldn’t help but do something about it. So he’d written to Dumbledore, asking for a time-turner, like Hermione had gotten for her classes. Dumbledore had simply written back that he’d see Remus at the next Order meeting, but that “unfortunately” he wouldn’t have a time-turner with him.

 _Of all the meetings to show up late to,_ Remus thinks, annoyed with himself for his tardiness. He should’ve had dinner earlier. He sits down next to Fleur, who’s alone today. Thankfully the meeting’s already started, so he doesn’t have to make use of his rusty French.

He doesn’t think he’s ever watched Dumbledore as closely as he’s doing today. He finds himself looking at Dumbledore’s robes, even, just in case there’s a suspicious-looking bulge around the inner breast-pocket, despite what Dumbledore’s letter had said.

But no, there’s no telltale sign of a time-turner, and Dumbledore’s speech about what they must do includes no hints about what Remus had asked about. No “righting wrongs” or “taking destiny into their own hands.” Just the usual standing up for what’s right and fighting for the next generation.

Remus supposes it’s not like Dumbledore can fight for his own generation anymore, how many of them are even left?

He doesn’t have to seek out Dumbledore after the meeting, his old headmaster comes to him instead. Not that it’s surprising, Dumbledore has a way of always being present at precise moments, and hiding away when you _think_ you need him but don’t, really.

“Remus, care for a cuppa?” he asks, and leads Remus into the pantry that’s been magicked into a break room for house-elves and servants.

They drink quietly for a full minute, and Remus finds it amusing in a way. Even at his most anxious, he’s patient enough to wait. Even after… Even after everything. He’s not sure if it’s in his nature exactly, or if it’s been nurtured by having to be quiet and unintimidating while growing up as a werewolf.

“There are unpleasant lessons that we learn, Remus. You can imagine how many I’ve had.”

Remus looks at Dumbledore as blankly as he can manage. He can guess where this is going. ‘Get over it’ will be the message he suspects he’s about the receive.

“But they’re lessons, nevertheless. We need to learn from them, and grow, and make different mistakes next time.”

“Right,” Remus says sarcastically, unable to hold back. “Peter betraying us taught us to- what, have only three friends next time, not four? Harry, Ron and Hermione will be fine then. And Sirius’ death, it taught us… Let me guess, stop imprisoning innocent people in their childhood homes?”

For the first time since Remus has known Dumbledore, he looks sad, when he looks at Remus. Oh, the calculating look in his eyes that he always has is there, of course, but there’s also true grief in his expression.

  
“If anybody has ever wanted to change the laws of life and magic, Remus, it’s been me. I know what you want.” He sighs, then takes another sip of his tea. “The thing about the laws of life and magic is that they’re laws. You can bend them and try to find loopholes, but you can’t break them. Each power that seems to be above them, has its own limitations. And with time, well… Think about it, Remus.”

 _Oh I have,_ he thinks, but says nothing.

“If you’d succeeded, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. If I give you a time-turner right now, your future would be in our past, you would’ve already executed whatever plan you have. And it must’ve changed nothing.”

_Or maybe you didn’t give me a time-turner because we’re having this bloody pointless conversation._

“All right,” Remus says, and gets up from the small chair he’d been sitting on.

“I need you here, Remus, in the Order,” Dumbledore lies, looking up at him.

“We all need each other,” Remus lies back.

**111 Days After**

Dumbledore might not have wanted to help, but Mundungus had had no concerns about prophecies or the laws of life. He’d named a price, and Remus had met it, so here he is, in the possession of an illegal time-turner worth more than his cottage.

Despite his resolution, Remus is no fool, and knows he needs to be very, very careful. He’d spent days reading everything he can, from the simple introduction book Hermione had had, to a dodgy, unbound one sold at Knockturn. There’s a couple conflicting theories, but most of it is straightforward.

The time-turner bit seems like child-play compared to what he needs to know about the veil. There’s near nothing about the veil itself, so the spell he’s placing all his faith on relies heavily on assumptions. He doesn’t even know that the arch is made of real stone, but he has to hope.

He’s just about to give up hope and try to bribe an Unspeakable when he happens upon the information he _really_ needs, which is where and when to find the arch, outside of the Ministry. It’s in a footnote in one of the books, and he only catches it because he’s scanning the page for dates.

 _1824,_ the text reads. _The arch is moved out of Egypt and taken by the British Ministry._

**113 Days After**

_What if I was wrong?_

The thought keeps bouncing back and forth in his mind, in different forms. What if Cholmondeley got it wrong in _Tempora Mutanur?_ What if Dumbledore was right, and none of this will matter because whatever his future self has done in the past has been done and has failed and time always rights itself after interference?

He shakes his head, as if shaking off the doubt. He doesn’t have time for introspection, they could be out any moment. The Egyptian sun is burning his neck, and the sweat trickling down his back is just disgusting, but he can’t risk casting a cooling charm. He’d even thought about risking hiding his wand somewhere for a while, but he hopes in its idle state it’ll go unnoticed.

Changing his sitting position once again, he wonders how much longer he’ll have to wait staring at Sneferu from a distance. He’d guesstimated that he should stay a few hundred yards away, but now he wonders if being this far means he’s missing some movement concealed by a spell. Maybe they’ve already walked out of the pyramid, and Remus has missed it. _Fuck._

Remus spares only a passing thought to an invisibility charm, and starts simply running towards the pyramid. If he’s not too late, maybe he can catch a glimpse of them, and-- He stops dead in his tracks as a giant, glowing circle appears on the side of the pyramid.

After all four Ministry officials are out and they’ve closed the gate behind them, Remus makes his move. It’s surprisingly easy to throw around Unforgivable curses. He supposes maybe this is the “intent” that all the dark magic books talk about.

Securing four people under the Imperius curse isn’t difficult, but Remus can’t figure out a way to break the spell they’ve put on themselves, binding them to the arch. When he orders them to do it, they explain in deadpan voices that it’s not possible, the spell can only be broken by a witch waiting for them with the key at the Ministry, to avoid this exact eventuality.

He swears under his breath, then decides that it doesn’t matter. All he can do now is hope that the weird, almost-invisible, shimmering bond they have tying their bodies to the arch won’t interfere with the spell he has to cast. With a deep breath, he points his wand at the veil, and starts.

**120 Days After**

It’s been almost a whole week since Remus came back to his present, and the quiet’s killing him. He _has_ to stay in Grimmauld because where else would he be, but as the hours roll by, his anxiety grows and he might just be losing his mind. Maybe the house is cursed in ways he hadn’t realized.

He can’t decide what to do. Staring at the stack of unanswered letters from Dumbledore on the table, he makes up his mind. With a deep breath, he gets up from the armchair, and starts walking towards them. He has to go back into the fight. What else is there to do? He has to protect James and Lily’s son. It’s one thing he can do, at least, as the last Marauder. Last of his friends, last person who remembers - who can _hear_ James’ laugh in his mind if he tries.

His heart is heavy, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe after Voldemort’s gone, if he survives again… Just as he’s about to unseal the first letter, he hears a loud thud from downstairs.

 _Is it Dung again?_ he wonders. That weasel needs to stay out of this place, he’s taking out more trouble into the world than he realizes. Remus heads down, wand in hand, trying to decide whether a pimple jinx would be too childish.

“Bloody hell, Moony, what’s happened to you?”

Remus freezes. He’s so tense he can feel the skin of his face being stretched, and his jaw tightening.

_It’s Sirius._

It is. It’s Sirius Black, in the robe he’d fallen through the veil with, walking through the entryway, scratching his neck. As if he hasn’t been gone for months. As if he hasn’t just crawled back from the other side.

Remus’ mind is reeling with thoughts of everything that could’ve gone wrong. No one messes with death and comes back unscathed. Is it really Sirius? Will he only live for a few days and die? Will he get sick? Will he lose his memories? Is he corporeal, or is he a spectre? Will he age?

His face must’ve been a scary sight, because Sirius repeats himself. “What’s happened?” His voice is softer this time, and he’s only a foot away from Remus. Just barely out of reach, as if he’s worried about Remus being skittish.

_Or maybe because he can’t get closer. Maybe he’s not real. Maybe this--_

Sirius - of course - doesn’t wait for Remus to answer. They always used to joke that it’s a miracle he actually managed to wait nine months to be born. Sirius gently puts a hand on Remus, where his neck meets his shoulder. His hand’s not warm, but it’s not cold like a ghost’s. It feels real. Remus’ body instinctively leans into the touch, even his mind’s not quite sold on this yet.

After days of telling himself that this would work, that he’d bring Sirius back, now that it’s happened… It seems too good to be true.

“Moony, you’re scaring me, mate.”

Remus still can’t utter a word, but he does drop his arm down so he’s not pointing his wand anymore.

“I know one way to get you talking,” Sirius says with a lopsided grin, and leans in.

As they kiss, there’s no mistaking it. This is Sirius. Remus’ arms reach around of their own accord, and they both stumble back a few steps. Sirius is back and Remus starts laughing as he thinks that, breaking their kiss.

“There you are,” Sirius says. “Want to tell me what’s going on? You look like death turned over. Did you open a jar in mother’s room? Because I’ve put some spells on her potions to--”

“No, no,” Remus cuts him off, finally finding his voice. “I’ll explain everything. Just…” He pulls his head back a bit more to take another proper look at Sirius. He’s looking at the lines of Sirius’ face that he thought he remembered so well, but feels like he’s learning all over again. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “Merlin,” he sighs, and brings up a hand to squeeze Sirius’ shoulder. Despite everything, it feels so unreal. He’s so happy he half-expects to start crying.

Remus convinces Sirius that they need to get into bed and snog some more before they talk. Not that Sirius needs much convincing - he never had. While they kiss slowly, and Remus gratefully touches every inch of Sirius’ body that he can reach, he thinks of all the things he’ll do differently this time. As soon as they’re done, they’re getting out of this horrible house for one. They’ll do it differently this time, not just wait around for Dumbledore’s orders.

And with Sirius, he… Remus will be more honest, he promises himself, kissing Sirius’ stomach and massaging his legs, as Sirius’ breath hitches. He’ll tell Sirius he loves him more often, they’ll go for curry every time they feel like it, secrecy be damned, and they’ll do things he was always too afraid to-- He laughs again as an image pops into his mind, and Sirius raises his head from the pillow at the sound. Remus doesn’t know how to explain that he’s laughing because he’s thinking such random thoughts, so he says nothing.

“Don’t laugh at me, you prick. I’ll get there,” Sirius chides, but there’s no anger in his voice. Remus realizes that he thinks Remus is laughing at his half-hard cock, and is trying to make light of it.

He gives Sirius’ cock a quick kiss before meeting Sirius’ eyes. “I was just thinking about how we’ve never tried the motorcycle thing, and, well…” He grins. “We should. You only live once.”


End file.
